


The First Annual Stanley Cup Naughty Stakes

by nanda (nandamai)



Series: Bad Universe [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-10
Updated: 2003-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandamai/pseuds/nanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never bet against Jack O’Neill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Annual Stanley Cup Naughty Stakes

"No way. Absolutely not." She leaned her hip against the counter and watched as he rinsed out the popcorn bowl and the glasses.

"We had a bet," he carefully reminded her. "Your team lost. I get to choose."

"Yeah, within reason!"

He shut the dishwasher with a flourish, obviously pleased with the hole in her logic. "Ah! The word 'reason' was never mentioned."

"It was implied!"

This was so not going to end well. She knew it already. And now he was doing the eyebrow thing from his new perch against the refrigerator. She was doomed.

"Since when is 'reason' implied in any conversation with me?"

She frowned at that. He had a point.

Time to try another tactic. "I happen to like my job." Pause, as a thought occurred to her. "I happen to _have_ a job."

"Aw, they'd never fire you for this. Maybe a teensy little slap on the wrist." His thumb and forefinger demonstrated the minuscule size of the slap. It was very -- no, no, no! It was not cute!

"And a slap on the wrist would be so much better," she said. "No. Not going to happen, Jack."

"I've never known you to go back on a promise ..."

Damn him. That was not playing fair. "Gah! I thought you'd say something like, I don't know, the back porch, for God's sake!"

"Come on, you gotta give me more credit than that, Carter." He paused, looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Wait, is that what you were going to say? The back porch?"

"I hadn't decided yet. But if we ever play this little game again -- which is _highly_ unlikely, by the way -- I think it'll be more like 'in my bedroom, with my dad awake in the next room so he can kick your ass.'"

That only earned her a smug grin. "Your dad loves me."

"I know. It's really not helpful."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "You could always kick my ass yourself."

Shit. She lost it. She cracked up.

Why was she even bothering to have this argument? She knew she'd lose. Or rather, she knew he'd win.

And of course, he took advantage of the fact that she was currently laughing too hard to talk. "Come on, Carter. The lab. You lost fair and square."

She tried to look stern. Yes, she was sure she was looking stern. Pretty sure. "Have you already forgotten about the security cameras? Even aside from considerations of propriety --"

And now he was openly grinning. "'Considerations of propriety?'"

"-- it would hardly bolster my position in the chain of command to have a couple of bored airmen see one of the highest-ranking women on the base --"

"-- _the_ highest-ranking woman on the base ..."

"-- screwing her former CO in her lab! For God's sake, Jack."

He pouted like a four-year-old who'd just been told he couldn't have another cookie. "But the potential for getting caught is half the fun!"

"Uh huh. And that's why you were so eager to break regulations when I was your 2IC, right?"

Ah, she had him there. One point for the team. And his turn to frown.

"No, no," he said, making what must be placating motions with his hands. "Okay, seriously. I was teasing about getting caught. Really. Nobody will see."

Escape. Yes, escape was her only option. She walked past him and started for the bedroom. "I can't believe I am even having this conversation with you."

Naturally, he stayed right on her heels, and she could hear the triumphant grin in his voice. "The camera doesn't reach every square inch of that lab, Sam."

She closed her eyes. She was getting a headache. "I don't even want to know how you know that."

"Basic geometry. Look." Warily, she turned to face him. He drew the outline of her lab in the air, and pointed out the specifics as he talked. "The room is square, right? And the camera is tilted a little towards the door. Just for security reasons, of course. So that means that this corner over here, behind the cabinet thingy ..."

Her jaw had literally fallen open. She wasn't sure that had ever happened to her before.

Catching her expression, he backpedaled -- a little. "I mean, I'm guessing. You know, just from memory."

Damn him. He so had her. It was very, very difficult not to smile. "Pretty good memory you've got there," she said.

He looked her up and down, very pointedly checking her out. Her toes curled on the hallway carpet. And since her feet were bare, it was very obvious that her toes curled.

"You oughtta see what else I've got," he said.

So now her toes were curling even further _and_ her jaw hurt from trying not to laugh. Dammit. Why was she such a pushover with him now? She never had been before. Why could he talk her into pretty much anything? Why did he have to give her that look? Why must he smell so nice? Why had she transferred from the Pentagon to the SGC in the first place? Why, why, why?

"I absolutely cannot be on duty," she said.

He pumped a fist in the air. "YES!"

Sam groaned.

***

"Operation Bad Girl" ("You did not just say that," she'd said. "Tell me you did not just say that.") was scheduled to commence on a Friday night at exactly ... well, approximately ... 8:27 PM. The team was officially on stand down, had been since the previous afternoon, but Sam had been on base most of the day. General Hammond had left for the weekend, nothing exciting should be going on, yet there would still be enough people around that they wouldn't be noticed ... too much.

"I realized I needed a few files from the astrophysics lab," she told security.

The airman on duty looked very, very bored.

Jack stood beside her, hands in his pockets (she'd told him to do that; those hands were trouble) except when he had to sign his name. She refused to look at him. She'd laugh if she did. And that would be bad. Right?

This was insane. This was absolutely, thoroughly insane. She was insane. Had to be.

Oh well.

Corridor ... elevator ... corridor ... don't look at Jack, don't look at Jack ... Finally! Her door. Nice, safe, familiar door.

The lab was partially lit by the blinking of equipment, and she didn't turn on the overhead light. She did turn the lock behind her, then flip through the files in her inbox. Just in case.

Jack, though -- Jack went straight to what he'd decided was "the safety zone" and said in a stage whisper, "Carter! C'mere!"

She looked up at him as he stood waving his arms, beckoning her over. And realized that, though she was never going to admit this to him, not ever, she was starting to feel a little ... uh. Something.

Of course he caught the look in her eyes, even in the half-light. "You are so turned on," he said. "Admit it."

"No." Okay, so she hadn't actually denied it. She'd just refused to say it _out loud_. She abandoned her inbox and took a step towards him. "You do realise," she said, "that you're going to be on the bottom."

His teeth seemed to glow in the dark as he smiled. "Can't wait."

Another step. "On the cold, hard floor ..."

Just a couple inches away now, and the smile was absolutely huge. "You can't wait, either."

Damn him, he smelled really good. It shouldn't be legal.

He smelled even better when he caught her and pinned her up against the wall.

Unbidden, her eyes flicked in the direction of the security camera. He caught her chin and held it still. "Don't look. Nobody can see."

But the thought of somebody seeing was, er ... no! Not going to go there. Just not.

He was already deftly removing her clothing, and just about to toss something when she caught his arm. "God, Jack! Don't throw it! Just put it down."

He just put it down, "it" being her shirt.

A smirk, then a kiss, another kiss, and then ... ooh, that was very nice indeed. Oh yeah. Mmm, skin. Lots of nice-smelling skin. Oh, okay, down now ....

Wow. She'd never known before how uncomfortable this floor was to kneel on.

Her only consolation was that lying on it -- butt naked, she might add -- must be worse. Served him right. Not that he seemed to be suffering at all. At least, judging by that insatiable grin and the very happy motion of his hips against hers. Mmm.

Hey, this actually was turning out to be kind of fun, not that she'd ever say so, of course. It got even better when he put his hands right there, and she moved ... oooh ... just like that. Yeah.

Well, she thought as his hands hovered quite pleasantly over her chest, working in her lab would certainly be a new and different experience from now on. But --

Shit, NO. No, that was not a knock on the door. Not possible.

Oh, God. It was.

This was it, then. Her career was over. Seven years surviving the Jack O'Neill school of diplomacy, thirty-whatever years of always doing the right thing, and it would all go to hell because now, _now_ , she couldn't keep her legs shut for him and they were going at it like a pair of greased weasels in the astrophysics lab. Shit, shit, shit.

She should have let him be on top; then she'd at least get to bang her head on the floor.

"Sam? You in there?" Daniel. Oh, damn him, too.

Don't look at Jack, don't look at Jack.

Covering his mouth with her hand seemed like a very good idea, though.

Deep breath, calm voice. Very calm voice. "I'm just getting ready to leave, Daniel. Can it wait?"

Sam needed more arms. She couldn't keep Jack quiet, hold both of his hands still, and not fall over herself, all at the same time. She glared at him, hoping he'd get the point. He didn't, of course. He was a selective point-getter. And, it seemed, quite willing to humiliate her.

No, oh, God, nonono, not _there_ \-- argh!

"Um. Okay," Daniel said through the door. Jack was now licking her palm. Oh, this was bad, this was very, very bad.

"Hey!" Daniel again -- was he still there? "Security told me Jack came in with you. He still here? I've got something in my office that ..."

Fingers pressed somewhere very, very nice and she momentarily forgot how to breathe. Shit. "Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Uh ... sure." She couldn't decide whether he sounded perplexed or offended or bemused but she'd deal with that later. Or maybe Oma would take him away again and she wouldn't have to deal with it at all. That wouldn't be an entirely bad thing, considering.

She made sure the footsteps had retreated to a safe distance before she removed her hand.

Jack's hands, of course, had never stopped moving. Mmm, yes, there. There was very good. Yes. No! Not good. Not good at all.

"I hate you," she said, possibly too cheerfully.

"No, you don't."

"I hate my life."

"Oh, you so do not. Especially right about ... now." The last word was punctuated with a particularly thorough upward thrust that made her yelp (yes, she yelped -- damn him) and lose her balance.

Jack grabbed her forearms to steady her, laughing. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're not going anywhere yet." But his fingers quickly moved to ... oh, no, nonono.

"Um, yes I am, actually -- oh!" Yes, going somewhere very nice now -- right over the edge, in fact. Whoa.

Jack laughed so hard he hit his head on the floor -- quite a feat, since he was already lying on it. Instinctively, she tried to protect the back of his head with her hand. He was more concerned with other things, though.

"Ow, ow -- ooh -- ow -- God, Sam!" And with that, still laughing, he followed her. Right into the very nice somewhere.

"Damn," he said a few breaths later. "You have no idea how glad I am that I won that bet."

She groaned and collapsed on his chest, her hand still delicately supporting his head. He'd have a bump. Apparently he thought that a price worth paying.

"I still hate you," she said into his neck.

"Riiiiight." His fingers tapped out a happy little rhythm on her back. "Hey. Wanna go christen Hammond's office?"

She really ruined the effect when she cracked up.

***

They managed to escape the base safely enough -- mainly because she'd made him swear not to touch her or look at her or say a word until they got to the car. She also made him carry some of her files, just for show. Okay, partially for punishment.

The airmen at the checkpoints merely nodded politely, still as bored as ever. If anything, more bored.

Jack, as promised, said nothing.

Until both car doors were securely shut. Then he looked at her sideways.

And it was _that_ look.

"So, Carter ... who you backing in the NBA finals?"

At which point she really had no choice but to bang her head, repeatedly, on the steering wheel.

Why? Why, why, why?


End file.
